The Night Remembers (2 page)

"Who goes on first?" someone asked.

Daphne glanced down at the clipboard and back up at the empty place in the line of beautifully dressed women in the silks and satins and glitter of evening wear. "Kali should be first in line." She looked around the room, but didn't spot the model in question. "Somebody tell Kali she's got thirty seconds to get here or I break every lovely bone in her body."

"I'm here, Daphne. Don't panic." A strikingly beautiful black woman, with skin the exact shade of polished amber and enormous Kahlua-colored eyes, rushed to her place at the head of the line. The pale pink silk of her bat-winged dress billowed out behind her as she moved.

"When have you ever seen me panic?" Daphne looked up from her clipboard with a smile.

Kali pretended to consider, head tilted as she fastened a fan-shaped spray of pink tourmaline and diamonds to her ear. "That time that Elaine lost that whole trunk of silk flowers you wanted us to wear for the spring show at Neiman's."

"I did not lose them." Elaine, trailing behind Daphne like a loyal puppy, added her two cents to the conversation. "I merely misplaced them. And Daphne did not panic. She just, uh..."

"Came slightly unglued," Daphne put in, laughing. She cocked her head suddenly, holding one slim hand up for silence. The squeal of a microphone being adjusted was clearly audible. "Oh, damn! Sunny's announcing me already." Daphne thrust her clipboard in Elaine's direction.

"Just take a deep breath, Daphne," Elaine advised as she followed her employer to the edge of the curtain.

"Makeup okay?" Daphne tilted her beautifully made-up face to the light for inspection.

"Gorgeous," Elaine assured her honestly.

Daphne always looked gorgeous. There was no way anyone with her cheekbones could be anything but gorgeous. That she also had wide golden-brown eyes, a delicately chiseled jawline, and a neck like Audrey Hepburn didn't hurt, either.

"And my dress?" Daphne turned once, slowly, so that Elaine could make sure there were no straggling threads. The soft apricot silk evening dress with its wide boat neck and long, full sleeves gathered at the wrist with a narrow ring of crystal beads suited her warm peaches-and-cream skin to perfection. A corded belt of bright coral silk and more crystal beads accented the simple dress beautifully and set off a waist that was the envy of many of the models.

"The dress is lovely. Your hair looks great," Elaine said, eyeing the short, gently tousled hairdo approvingly. Daphne's baby-fine hair clung softly to her forehead and temples, leaving her ears and throat bare, with delicate, wavy tendrils that hugged the nape of her long, elegant neck. Its color was somewhere between aged bourbon and pale golden sherry; too dark to be called blonde but too bright to be labeled brown, either.

"Not a strand out of place," Elaine said, tweaking one of the soft, wispy curls. "Your notes are on the podium," she added, anticipating the next question. "Now, one more deep breath, and—" she put her hand in the small of Daphne's back "—you're on," she said, giving her employer a gentle push forward.

Daphne entered from stage right to polite applause and took her place at the podium. Surprisingly, Sunny didn't mouth any of the usual meaningless pleasantries that were appropriate to such an occasion. Instead, she simply gave Daphne's hand a reassuring squeeze, closed one huge chocolate-brown eye in a conspiratorial wink, and scampered off the stage before Daphne could so much as thank her for the lovely introduction.

Daphne thanked her anyway, then took another deep breath and smiled, willing the butterflies in her stomach to settle down. Although she would die before admitting to such a weakness, she really hated this part of a fashion show. She much preferred to manage things backstage and let her designs speak for themselves. Usually she did just that, but this was a charity function and the audience expected to see her.

"Good evening, everyone," she began, her naturally husky voice made even huskier by nervousness. The microphone squealed and Daphne backed away a little, eyeing it as if it might bite her. "I'm Daphne Granger and, as you all know, we're here tonight at the first annual Golden Gate Charity Fashion Show to benefit Children's Hospital," she said mechanically, staring straight ahead.

"Smile!" Elaine prompted from the wings.

Daphne smiled and remembered to look slowly from one side of the large room to the other so that everyone would feel as if she were talking to them personally.

"Tonight you'll be seeing some of the newest evening designs from my Night Lights collection. The gowns are being modeled both by professional models and by some of the lovely ladies of the Golden—" Daphne stopped suddenly in mid-spiel, her voice stuck somewhere in her throat.

Elaine's "gorgeous hunk"—it could be none other—was sitting at one of the first tables, almost directly in front of the podium. His eyes, just as blue as Elaine guessed they would be, were fastened intently on Daphne's face.

She blinked once and looked again, but he was still there. She shook her head slowly as if to clear her vision, causing her long crystal earrings to brush gently against her neck.

It can't be,
she thought, her eyes wide with stunned surprise as she returned his stare. But she knew beyond a doubt that it was Adam—or someone who looked enough like him to be his twin.

No wonder Sunny had been in such a hurry to get off the stage. She had known he was going to be here. She had probably invited him. The traitor.

"Daphne!" Elaine hissed at her from the wings.

"Some... uh, some of the ladies of the Golden Gate fundraising committee will also model tonight." Daphne mumbled the words into the microphone and then paused, unable to think of what came next while Adam sat there, staring at her with an astonished look on his face. She averted her gaze, tearing it away from Adam's with difficulty, and tried vainly to remember the rest of her opening speech. But even with the little three-by-five cue cards Elaine had made for her she couldn't remember what she was supposed to say.

What is he doing here?
she wondered frantically. He was supposed to be working at a hospital in Los Angeles. Hadn't Sunny told her, oh, years ago it seemed, that he was doing his residency at some hospital in southern California? What was he doing in San Francisco at a Children's Hospital charity function?

"Daph-nee!" Elaine's voice was urgent now.

Daphne glanced toward stage right, her eyes focusing blindly on her agitated assistant. "And, now," she improvised, "here to describe the fashions you'll be seeing tonight is my very capable and lovely assistant, Elaine Prescott." She motioned for the other woman to join her at the podium. "Elaine?"

Putting down her clipboard, Elaine hurried out onto the stage, her hands unconsciously fluffing up the low-cut ruffled neckline of her yellow crepe de chine gown as she moved. "What happened?" she whispered, automatically smiling at the crowd as Daphne introduced her again.

Daphne shrugged, miming confusion as she turned away from the audience, and thrust the cue cards into Elaine's hands. Then she walked, as fast as was possible without actually running, toward the safety of backstage.

"Daphne, are you all right?" Suzie, resplendent now in ice-blue chiffon and drop-dead sapphires, was the first to reach her.

"What happened?" Kali's concerned voice rose above the others.

"Where's Sunny?" Daphne demanded, ignoring the questions. "I want to wring her neck."

"Huh?"

"The tall busty redhead in the gold lame," Daphne elaborated, looking around for her intended victim. "Her hair style makes her look like she stuck her finger in a light socket," she added unkindly.

"Oh, Mrs. McCorkle. She went that way." Kali pointed toward the backstage exit. "Fast."

"Coward," Daphne muttered to herself, her eyes on the neon exit sign. Then she turned, glaring at the models clustered around her. "Why are you all just standing around? You're supposed to be doing a fashion show."

"But, Daphne—"

"You're on, Kali," she instructed, nodding her head toward the stage.

The black woman instantly assumed the haughty, elegant expression of the professional runway model and glided out onto the stage. She paused as the spotlight hit her, raising her arms to show off the wide bat-wing sleeves of the dress, and then undulated down the walk with her arms still held high so that the soft pink silk billowed as she moved. She paused at the end of the runway, twirled once, very slowly, and started back toward the stage.

"Our next model this evening is Mrs. Beth Garwood, the wife of Dr. Arthur Garwood. She's wearing a gold shot chemise dress..." Elaine's voice was well modulated and professional but Daphne barely heard it.

She peered around the edge of the curtain, her eyes drawn irresistibly to the table where Adam sat. His golden blond hair seemed to catch and reflect the spotlight that followed the models up and down the runway, making him easy to pick out. Dr. Brian McCorkle, Sunny's husband, was at the same table. The seat between the two men, Sunny's seat, was empty. Proving decisively, Daphne thought, that her so-called best friend had engineered the whole thing.

Suddenly, as if feeling her eyes upon him, Adam half turned in his chair and looked stage left to where she'd disappeared behind the curtain. There was a puzzled expression on his handsome face, as if he couldn't believe what he had seen, either. Daphne hastily tucked herself further behind the concealing material, all thoughts of her traitorous friend flying from her mind.

He still looks the same
, she thought, daring to peek again after a minute. Oh, he was older, of course. Who wasn't? But the lines of age and experience etched in his face were infinitely more interesting and attractive than the innocent, aw-shucks, farmboy face he'd had as a younger man.

His hair hadn't changed at all. It was still thick and straight and the color of ripe, golden wheat. "Great hair," as Elaine had said. He wore it shorter now, but that stubborn cowlick still fell over his forehead. And he still used the same impatient gesture when he pushed it back, she noted.

From what she could see, he had managed to keep the physique of his younger years, too. He still looked more like the football player that Elaine had tagged him than a successful doctor. Doctors, Daphne thought whimsically, a ghost of a smile curving her full coral-tinted lips, shouldn't be allowed to have shoulders like that. Or, if they did, they shouldn't be allowed to wear tuxedos.

It was those shoulders and that still magnificent build that had first attracted her to him. He had just been coming out of the entrance of Harding Park, near the university, clad in battered running shoes, pair of faded blue shorts, with the sweaty gleam of hard physical exertion gilding his well-toned body.

She remembered vividly how the muscles of his arms and shoulders rippled in the late afternoon sunlight. His legs were long and lean—like a runner's should be—with powerful, well-developed thigh and calf muscles that seemed to move effortlessly as he jogged out of the park. Fine, downy, blond hair glinted over his legs and forearms and the wide expanse of his chest, giving him an all over golden glow. He was as beautiful as a young Greek god and Daphne had been so enthralled by the sheer male beauty of him that she forgot to pay attention to what she was doing and ran into him with her bicycle.

Lord, but he had been angry. For the first few minutes, anyway. She had, after all, knocked him down and left tread marks across the toe of his right running shoe. It had taken half a dozen apologetic smiles and the promise of a date before he was willing to forgive her.

Daphne sighed and moved back behind the curtain. Where had all the time gone? It seemed like only yesterday that Adam had been an intensely dedicated, nose-to-the-grindstone young med student and she had been his unlikely girlfriend—an impulsive, emotional young woman who protested on behalf of what she considered the unfortunates in the world and dreamed of becoming a fashion designer.

Adam will be thirty-seven in a couple of weeks,
she thought, recalling his birthday without effort.
I turned thirty-one this year.
And in just two months it would be eleven years since their divorce.

"Daphne, what happened out there?" Suzie had changed into her second outfit, a slim one-shouldered column of sleek satin that almost matched her platinum hair, and was waiting for her cue to go on again. She put her hand on Daphne's arm. "Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Daphne smiled a little wryly and patted the hand on her sleeve. "I guess I have, sort of." She nodded toward the audience. "See that blond hunk of yours out there?"

Suzie peeked around the curtain. "Uh-huh. He's sitting at the first table." She licked her lips. "Yummy."

"He's my ex-husband."

The model's head snapped around. "Your ex-husband? Really?" She looked out toward the audience again, amazement in her wide blue eyes. "The hunk is your ex-husband?"

"What's the matter? Don't you think I could be married to a man like that?" Daphne said, her voice only half teasing. She had gotten that kind of reaction before. People had found it hard to believe that a serious, dedicated medical student like Adam Forrest could be married to the emotional, impulsive girl she had been at that time in her life.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just that, well—" Suzie shrugged her fashionably thin shoulders "—I didn't know you'd ever been married to anyone besides Miles." Her look became frankly curious. "You must have been awfully young that first time around."